


Shots

by BreakYourHeart (EmilyBeauchene)



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Abusive Parents, Alcohol, Child Abuse, F/M, M/M, Slurs, Suicide, Time Travel, Time Travel AU, repeated character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-05
Updated: 2015-08-25
Packaged: 2018-04-03 01:07:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4080694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmilyBeauchene/pseuds/BreakYourHeart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>About two years after they moved in together-- their rent had gone up by one-hundred and fifty dollars, Caboose still didn't have a job-- Church realized he could do things that nobody else could do.<br/>If he forgot an important date, the next day he would wake up the day before what he forgot. It happened infrequently at first, he had no control over it at all, and it only ever worked when he fell asleep.<br/>After a few months of this going on, he started to realize he could vaguely control it. He could go back in time just a few hours, and pick up Caboose's wallet that he had left on the public bus after they went grocery shopping. He could jump back to a few minutes before he left for work, and get one last kiss from Caboose.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Use of both the f-word and the r-word

Caboose was skinny with enormous doe eyes, he was 5'1" and smiled at anybody who glanced his way.

Church met him in high school, on the last day of junior year.

He was instantly the friend of anybody who met him, there was absolutely nobody who hated Caboose. There was the occasional bully who made fun of his disabilities, but Church made sure that didn't last for long.

The first time he saw somebody picking on Caboose, he gave them a bloody nose.

Nobody fucked with Caboose after that.

Church and Caboose stayed together for the rest of high school. There was just no reason for them to bother splitting up. They clicked together like thunder and lightning, best of friends through thick and thin.

In just five years, it was their last day of college, all dressed in their caps and gowns-- they were free, released upon the world to do whatever it was that they pleased. There was no hesitation, no need for putting off what was so clearly going to happen-- and it did happen.

With a simple question, a rushed yes, and an eager kiss, Caboose was going to start living with Church.

Moving in was a process that took much longer than it should have.

Their neighborhood wasn't the nicest, sketchy-- at best-- even when it was light out.

Caboose sat on the back of the moving truck, guarding all of their things. Church hauled their boxes up and down three flights of stairs, mostly by himself. He only asked for Caboose's help when it came to the furniture, of which they only had a few big pieces.

A couch from Church's parents, that was probably just as old as Church was, if not a bit older.

Caboose's bed set, since he had a Queen-sized bed-- much better than Church's twin-sized bed.

For themselves, they had bought a crappy TV and an even crappier TV stand, a small glass table, and a set of chairs. There wasn't much in the way of real things in their apartment, but it was enough for the two of them to get by.

After moving their things from the back of the moving truck to their apartment, the two of them realized just how keen they were to leave everything in their respective boxes. The process was much easier for Caboose, who only had to read a few labels to know where something was, and he had the layout of the boxes memorized within two weeks. For Church-- well, it just gave him another excuse to sit around and not do anything. If Caboose preferred their belongings packed up rather than getting dusty, then he was fine with it.

The first night after they moved in had been one clouded with heavy whiskey and the occasional beer. They drank and ate heartily, watching stupid reruns of stupid reality TV shows. Even though he had seen every episode, Caboose's favorite show was Cupcake Wars, not even Church knew why. Caboose laughed at all of the stupid puns, and could recite the opening to the show without batting an eye.

Once the alcohol had settled over them in a hazy comfort, Caboose began kissing Church, their TV all but forgotten.

Church wound his fingers into Caboose's dark, curly hair. He pulled Caboose's body flush against his own, and within no time, their apartment was overtaken by their shared sighs and moans.

\--

In college, Caboose studied engineering and calculus. He was an unrealized genius, brushed off by his attitude that the stereotypical worker wouldn't have. Even through rejection after rejection, he remained positive that they would be okay, and another job would be out there for him.

Church, on the other hand, studied physics and very nearly joined the army because he had nothing else to do. In the end, he backed out of it, knowing that he couldn't leave Caboose alone. He wasn't one to really want to work hard, but if it was to keep clothes on Caboose's back and food on his table, he would do whatever it took.

He was a physicist who had the night shift at the local hospital as a chef.

It was a crap job with worse hours, but the pay was good, and he got to bring home any sort of leftovers that he thought Caboose would like. Mostly, he brought home the day-old cookies and bread.

He and Caboose had a one-bedroom apartment that barely fit all of their boxes, and it was a struggle to find anything if you hadn't been living there for a year and a half. It was in a bad part of the city, the kind where you hear explosions and you don't know if it was a firework or a gun going off. It was the kind of 'bad' part where you heard people screaming at three in the morning, and you were thankful that the person you slept next to loved you with all of their heart.

Church's shift ended at four in the morning, Caboose would be sound asleep on the bed, or on the couch. If he was on the couch, then the TV was on, too, and Church knew that Caboose had tried to stay awake and wait for him.

Church had a foot and then some on Caboose, and nearly fifty pounds. It was easy to pick up such a small person and carry him to the couch, and Church was more than used to it. He would pull off Caboose's fleece pants, and unbutton the top button on his shirt so he wouldn't hurt himself if he rolled over.

Church would dress down, get into bed next to him, pull the comforter up to their chins, and fall asleep.

Caboose woke up every day at 7:42 AM on the dot, and never at any other time. It didn't matter if he had stayed up until 3 the morning before, his brain had hardwired itself into waking up at exactly 7:42 AM. He stayed in bed for thirty minutes, or until his stomach growling was loud enough that he thought he would wake Church.

Caboose spent his days applying for jobs, watching TV, and checking in on Church. He never went anywhere without Church, he didn't feel safe walking around on his own. They lived on the edge of a highway on one side, and train tracks on the other. Both were horrifyingly loud, and swarmed with people who might do somebody harm for the watch on their wrist.

Church woke up with an hour to spare before his shift started at 6 PM. He and Caboose ate dinner-- more like breakfast for him-- Church gave Caboose a quick kiss, and he left for work.

Rinse and repeat.

\--

About two years after they moved in together-- their rent had gone up by one-hundred and fifty dollars, Caboose still didn't have a job-- Church realized he could do things that nobody else could do.

If he forgot an important date, the next day he would wake up the day before what he forgot. It happened infrequently at first, he had no control over it at all, and it only ever worked when he fell asleep.

After a few months of this going on, he started to realize he could vaguely control it. He could go back in time just a few hours, and pick up Caboose's wallet that he had left on the public bus after they went grocery shopping. He could jump back to a few minutes before he left for work, and get one last kiss from Caboose.

The jumps weren't important to him, they were simple things for him to fix to make his and Caboose's lives easier. The grandest thing he ever did with his newly-discovered power was to jump back a week, and make Caboose his favorite dinner after another failed interview so he wouldn't be so depressed the next week.

Church never jumped back far, and he couldn't jump forward. At least now he didn't have to fall asleep to make the damned thing work. He never breathed a word of it to anybody, most of all to Caboose. Something that jarring had few positive reactions for Caboose.

When he jumped, he had to relive everything he had already lived. Sometimes it was nice, especially when work was easy, or when he had a day off to spend with Caboose. If he could stand the repetition more than twice in a row, Church would live his days off three hundred times over.

He only had so few days with Caboose, and every extra day that they spent together was one that he cherished.

\--

The funeral was on the twelfth of February.

Two weeks earlier, Church was moved from the night shift to the day shift. They finally were able to spend time together, and they shared the bed for more than three hours and forty-two minutes.

Three days after that, and Caboose was offered his first job in just over three years. He was going to work for a company that was out of town, but he could do the work for them despite the distance. He was to be head engineer, and Church decided it was time to celebrate.

Caboose didn't like to drink at the best of times, he hated how it threw him off balance and how he couldn't talk or think straight. However, with Church at his side, he wasn't scared.

They didn't drive, they knew better than that.

Church should have known better than to do something as reckless as take shot after shot in such a dangerous part of the city.

They were walking home, along the side of the small, four-lane highway. Caboose was swaying this way and that, Church chuckling a few paces behind him. He was the perfect image of a drunken teenager, babbling about his job and how excited he was and how happy he was that they were going to spend more time together. His job would pay enough that Church could quit his job at the hospital, and they would still have hundreds of dollars to spare.

He was talking about the questions he had to answer for his interview, Church had heard about it at least four times that night, each iteration more and more drunken. He didn't notice an uneven step in the sidewalk, stumbled, and began to fall.

Church lunged to catch him, and they laughed together as they nearly fell to the pavement. Drunk and radiating with alcohol, they smiled at each other.

Church had never been in love before Caboose, and he was certain that he wasn't going to be in love after. They were never supposed to part.

Church leaned in for a kiss, and Caboose kissed back, all soft, plush lips. Caboose never bit or tugged with his teeth, gentle with everything he did. He wasn't what an engineer was supposed to act or look like, even Church could admit it.

"Faggots!"

They had been called that before, but it had never been accompanied with physical violence. 

The man who had shouted at them, just as drunk as they were, shoved them.

They tumbled, arm in arm, into the street. Church was able to regain his balance much better than Caboose, who seemed to be caught in zero gravity He was falling, his black curls framing his face and those beautiful doe eyes.

The only thing that seemed to be moving fast was the oncoming traffic. Church's legs became cement, and his feet were glued down to the sidewalk. The brakes on the car squealed, but by then it was too late.

Caboose's body hit the front of the car, tumbled over the windshield, and smacked into the front of the next car. His body rolled under the second car. Traffic continued to move.

The first car spun out, swerving back and forth. The second tried to stop, but it was too late. Traffic stopped immediately, and Church was certain that he was screaming. He was torn between running for Caboose, and turning around and killing the man who had pushed them.

He chose the first, and ran blindly into traffic. He could hardly see, he wasn't sure if it was because he was drunk or because he was crying too much.

The driver from the first car was screaming, panicking, unsure what to do. Church wanted to hate her, she had no right to be panicking; her best friend and only true love wasn't lying motionless, pinned by his right shoulder under the wheel of a car.

He had glass pressed into every angle of his face, and his right arm was turning blacker by the second.

Church pressed his hands to Caboose's cheeks, ignoring the glass that cut into his calloused hands.

He tried to speak, but the words caught in his throat.

Caboose's light blue eyes were staring up at him, and a little smile was on his lips. Church wanted to scream, to yell at him and tell him that it was not okay to be smiling in a situation like this.

Somewhere far away, in a world where Caboose hadn't been hit by two consecutive cars, and crushed by the second, Church could hear the sirens of ambulances.

Caboose's mouth was opening and closing, his words strained from the pain.

"It's..." his whole body shivered, affected by the mid-January chill for the first time all night. "...okay..." he finished, followed by another full-body, deep-chested shiver, his breath clouding in front of his mouth. It was such a small amount, Church could hardly tell that he was breathing.

"It's not okay!" he shouted, his own body starting to shake. "It's not okay!" he repeated.

\--

At least Church had a body to identify.

At least he got to see Caboose one last time, peaceful and smiling in the casket.

The trial was held a week after the accident, and Church gained enough money from the civil side of it that he could have purchased a house that he and Caboose had daydreamed about sharing.

During the trial, he had to identify the man, the cars, and Caboose's body. He had to be shown a step-by-step replay of what had happened that night. He had to hear the prosecutor claiming that none of it would have happened if Caboose hadn't been drunk. He had to hear time and time again how the whole thing was Caboose's fault, and not the other man's.

They won, though, and the man was sentenced to prison for some sort of secondary manslaughter. Church didn't know what happened to the people driving the cars.

Instead of going out and buying a house, Church stared at the numbers in his bank account and stayed in bed all day long. He didn't quit work, but he stopped showing up. They must have understood why, because he never got a letter or a call telling him that he was fired.

None of it was okay.

For Caboose's funeral, he had to pick out an outfit for Caboose to wear, and a casket for Caboose to be buried in, and flowers that Caboose would have liked. He had to arrange where it would be held, and who would be invited, and where they would go to mourn after the ceremony was done.

He chose February twelfth, when Caboose was supposed to start work.

\--

Church didn't cry for the entirety of the funeral.

When Caboose's mother ran up to the casket, wailing and screaming, he didn't make a peep.

When he saw each one of Caboose's seven sisters sobbing, even the youngest of them all who probably didn't have a good grasp of life and death, he didn't feel a thing.

They went through the sermon, trying to ignore the woman's wracked horror. Church couldn't imagine the weight of losing his only son. He and Caboose had talked about adopting children, but they had never gotten around to it. They wanted to become more financially stable before looking into it.

When the casket was being lowered into the ground, and flowers were thrown on top of the varnished black cover, Church's heart twisted. He had never felt such a pain as this.

When the dirt was being moved back into place, Church fell to his knees. He didn't know when, but at some point, tears were pouring from his eyes and his nose was dripping. He couldn't control what was happening, he couldn't understand what was happening to him. 

Caboose's mother was next to him, holding him close. She knew what Caboose meant to him, and what Church meant to Caboose.

At some point, he started yelling, too. He started yelling at the man who had lead to Caboose's death, at the drivers that had killed him, at himself for being so stupid.

He screwed his eyes shut in agony and--

\--

He was drunk, stumbling along the side of the small, four-lane highway with Caboose.

Caboose was giggling, talking about the different types of questions he had answered in his interview. Church had heard about it at least four times that day.

The man who had shoved Caboose was approaching now, an so was the hitch in the sidewalk that the two of them had tripped over. Church let the moments play out as they should have, pulling Caboose close, leaning in for a kiss.

"Faggots!"

Before the shove came, Church released Caboose, and turned to the man. He landed his fist into the center of the man's face, and deep in his stomach, Church felt a sick sort of delight.

The man crumpled, screaming and cursing, holding his nose that was gushing with blood.

Behind Church, car brakes and horns were squealing. He turned around, just in time to see Caboose's body roll under the front grill of an eighteen-wheeler.

\--

That time, he didn't have a body to identify.

He went through the exact same trials, and the man was put in prison for some sort of secondary manslaughter. He had to see the pictures of what was left of Caboose, as though the images weren't already burned into his mind.

The only part of Caboose that was left even partially whole was a fraction of his skull, most of the black hair ripped out, but the thick curls still easily recognizable. There was enough of his skull intact that his eye was still attached to some part of his brain, Church didn't know the proper nomenclature for such things. He could recognize those enormous doe eyes anywhere.

He had to go through the planning all over again. There was no consideration that time. February twelfth, early in the morning, a black varnished casket, beautiful blue flowers that were Caboose's favorites.

The casket was closed.

There was hardly enough left of Caboose for a casket to be needed. In some way, Church supposed it was comforting. It was comforting to kneel in front of a cold wooden box, eyes cloudy with tears, and pretend that it was his boyfriend who had been so loving and warm. He figured that it was easier to pretend, with the lid shut, that Caboose was inside, smiling away and just as peaceful as the last time.

Before the speeches were all said and done, Church knew he had to jump again.

Before they even started, Church closed his eyes and--

\--

He was at home with Caboose, in the middle of putting on his shoes. Caboose as bouncing around excitedly, grinning and talking about the kinds of questions that he had to answer for his interview. Church had heard about it at least two times by then.

"Church?" Caboose asked.

Church looked up from his shoes, he had been in the middle of tying them. He stopped at some point, just taking in the fact that he had Caboose standing in front of him. He was looking at Church with those beautiful, fawn-like eyes.

"Church, are you ready?" he asked.

"Caboose, I..." Church's words faded away. He sighed, and pushed his short black hair out of his face. "Caboose, why don't we stay home and celebrate?" he suggested.

Caboose immediately looked unnerved. He didn't like plans to be changed. Desperate times called for desperate measures, Church would put Caboose's temporary comfort out of the way if it meant he lived.

"Why?" he asked, furrowing his eyebrows at Church.

"I think it would be more fun," Church said. He took off his shoes, and then peeled off his heavy winter jacket. "Don't you agree? No loud people, we can stay home and watch whatever we want, instead of some stupid sports channel."

"Okay," Caboose said. He still seemed upset by the change, but he could live with it. And he would live. Church was certain of it. They would stay home, and they wouldn't go out drinking.

They ate dinner and watched TV, Church didn't have work the next day, so they stayed up late.

At around midnight, Church found his lips at Caboose's neck, and his hands in Caboose's hair. Caboose was breathing hard already, exhaling in little sighs and moans. His pulse was hammering under the attention that Church was lavishing his neck with. Small kisses and light licks, little touches and sensations that had Caboose's world reeling and spinning around him.

Already, they both had straining erections pressing against the fronts of their pants. Caboose was flushed a beautiful shade of red, and Church never wanted this moment to end. He looked so beautiful, so peaceful. He would be lying if he said he didn't jump back a few minutes three more times, just to burn the picture into his retinas. He wanted desperately to erase the image of his arms vanishing under a semi truck, and of his small, petite body flying over the back of a car and into another one.

"Not here," Caboose whispered, fingers clasped tightly in Church's short hair.

Church nodded, he was eager to please, ready to do whatever it took to make Caboose more comfortable with the situation they had found themselves in. They stood, and stumbled to their bedroom, despite their unclouded minds. Their clothes, only barriers between the other's body, were dropped in a messy trail to the ground.

They fell into bed, panting and already euphoric.

Caboose didn't like to have sex all that often, and Church understood. Growing up in a household that refused to teach him about what it was, even when he was eighteen, it was a scary, sensitive subject for Caboose. Even after Church had explained, even after their first night had been awkward and clumsy, Caboose was nervous about the whole ordeal.

But when it happened, they were the only two people in the world, and their love was all that mattered.

Church pressed himself into Caboose with a slow familiarity, and Caboose turned his head to the right as he tried to adjust. He would grab for Church's arms, trying desperately to find his hands. Their fingers would lace, and their combined moans filled the room. They weren't the kind of couple to fuck, or to do anything just because they were horny. Church and Caboose only ever made love to each other, slow and passionate and tender and sweet.

Church kissed everywhere that he could, memorizing every inch of Caboose's skin. They whispered their love for each other, breathless and blind to the world around them.

Church laid behind Caboose when they were done, their breathing still ragged, and Caboose's eyes falling shut.

One thin wall over, their neighbors were screaming at each other.

Caboose turned to nuzzle his nose into the pillow, a sleepy smile on his face.

"It's nice," he said.

"What?" Church mumbled, drawing himself out of his half-doze. "What's nice?"

"Them," Caboose said.

Church furrowed his eyebrows, he didn't understand how screaming at two am could possibly be nice. "Why do you say that?" he asked.

"Because I know we'll never be like that," Caboose said.

Church was too tired to really understand what Caboose was saying, but he nodded anyways. "Of course, Caboose," he said. He pressed another kiss to the back of Caboose's neck. "I love you, Caboose," he said softly. "I love you so much."

Caboose seemed confused, but also like he appreciated the sentiment. "I love you, too, Church," he said, imitating Church's quiet tone without realizing it.

\--

For a while, the arrangement of Caboose working over the internet worked, and it worked well. Caboose got all of his projects done on time, and he was earning enough money that they were able to move out of their shitty apartment and to a better side of the city. The new apartment had thick walls, and neighbors that were friendly and polite. Neighbors that didn't throw slurs at them. Neighbors that didn't shout at each other at 3 AM, instead going to bed at reasonable times.

Church earned himself a position up to head chef, with paychecks tat had at least three hundred extra dollars. He could almost forget about the two times he had seen Caboose die. Those times didn't matter anymore, and they didn't even exist anymore. He an Caboose were as happy as could be.

Until the company decided they wanted Caboose to be closer at hand, and at their disposal at all hours of the night. He was practically a slave to them already, a move and a few extra hours or work each day didn't bother him one bit.

The only thing that bothered him was the distance from Church. Church was his landline, Church stayed on the ground whenever he couldn't. Church was always there for him. The day before the move, he was in bed with Church, and the two of them were staring at the ceiling. Neither wanted to admit what a move halfway around the country was going to cost them-- or how it was going to affect their relationship.

Caboose, as always, insisted that everything would be okay. Everything was always okay. They had each other and that was all that mattered. Even if they were apart, they would still be together forever.

Church was reluctant to get into the car and drive Caboose to the airport. It wasn't the same as Caboose dying, but it was just as painful for him. He couldn't imagine staying away from him for so long.

He was listening to Caboose talk, about all of the things that he was going to do and the friends he was going to make. He wasn't paying attention to the road. He wasn't paying attention to the lights changing to red. He wasn't paying attention to Caboose's panicked screaming.

Right then, the only thought going through his head was that he would rather be dead than live in a world without Caboose.

He didn't even know if Caboose made it through the crash, he didn't want to stay and find out.

\--

"Church! Church!"

Church looked away from the piece of paper clutched tightly in his hand.

"Huh? Oh. Yeah. What is it, Caboose?" he asked.

Caboose looked so regal in his cap and gown, looking as pleased as punch. "You were going to tell me something," Caboose said.

Behind him, Church could see Caboose's family. Around them, their fellow college mates were milling about, talking and laughing.

"I was? Oh, yeah, I was."

Church furrowed his eyebrows. He knew what he was going to say to Caboose, and he knew that he couldn't say it. It was because of him that Caboose died time after time, he needed to cut their connection. Even if it meant reliving three years of his life.

"Congratulations," he said.

Every ounce of happiness seemed to fade from Caboose's face all at once. But, like a proper student, he took the praise with a smile.

"Thank you very much!" he cheered.

Caboose turned away from Church to join his parents and sisters. Church clutched the diploma tighter in his hand. Three years ago-- no, now, he should have been asking Caboose to move in with him. Caboose should have been yelling for joy, and kissing Church with all of the passion that he could muster.

Church watched as Caboose left with his family, one last glance over his shoulder, dark eyebrows furrowed pensively. Church wasn't sure he had ever seen such an expression on Caboose's face, as though he were pleading for help, like a dog being lead away by an unloving master.

"Goodbye, Caboose," Church muttered.

\--

Church wasn't sure at first how he was going to live three years of his life over again without Caboose.

For the first month after graduation, they talked a lot. Caboose looked happy. He talked about the interviews he was rejected from time and time again. He talked about his sisters, and how well they were growing up.

The second month, Caboose looked less happy. They talked a grand total of three times. Church noticed with every time they talked, Caboose had more and more bruises on his face and arms. He wasn't smiling.

For three months, Caboose didn't text Church or log onto Skype so they could talk relatively face-to-face.

On the last day of the third month, Caboose sent Church a call.

Church answered immediately, it had been hard living without Caboose for so long, it was his usual rinse-and-repeat, but without the love of his life.

"I still don't have a job," he said. He was refusing to look up at the camera or at Church.

"It's okay," Church said, "it's only been five months. It's all okay."

"It's not okay," Caboose said. He looked up at the camera.

Church felt like he had been hit with a bag of bricks. Caboose had a busted lip, and a bruise that spanned from the top of his cheekbone to the bottom of his eyebrow.

"My parents say that I'm a burden. They say that I'm freeloading, and that I'm not even trying," he whispered. Church had never heard him be so quiet.

"That's not true, Caboose, you're trying," Church said.

Caboose shrugged, and ended the call.

Church didn't hear from him after that.

At work, a girl who had once just been a friend to Church, became his girlfriend. She moved in with him after three months, and it was amazing. The sex was great, and their schedules coincided perfectly. She was a nurse, and both of them pulled extensive night shifts every day of the week.

Two years in, and Church could hardly remember the last time he had seen Caboose. They weren't even living far away from each other-- if Caboose was still alive at all. It would take no effort at all from him to go and check up on him.

Caboose had never lived with Church, and never found the job that lead to him moving away from Church. He never got drunk, and he never stumbled out into the street. Church only had faint memories of seeing his body crushed, of seeing his casket lowered into the ground. 

Sometimes he thought, maybe it was supposed to be that way. Maybe Caboose was supposed to die. It seemed that no matter what Church did, the fates cut Caboose's string short of all of the amazing things that he could do with his life.

It was February twelfth, and Church was sitting across from Tex at the table. They had both gotten home around the same times, and were tucking into a nice breakfast. She was still in her scrubs, and Church still smelled like cheap hospital food.

He was a physicist who scraped liquid mashed potatoes onto plastic trays.

"Church," Tex said, chin in her hand. "This isn't working."

Church realized he should have been offended. He should have found a solution, but he found that he didn't care enough to bother. Tex was nice, but she wasn't Caboose. She didn't have his eyes, or his hair.

"It's okay," Church said. There was nothing else he could say.

Tex stood, walked over to him, and ghosted a kiss to his lips. He didn't react; he couldn't find it in himself to bother with some false pretense of love one last time.

He didn't see Texas again, she skipped town with another nurse from the hospital.

Church wished he could have jumped again, maybe to a time when he and Caboose were reunited, but he knew it was impossible. By then, he had screwed it up so badly, that the only option was to start all over.

\--

He slammed his locker shut, the one-minute-warning bell ringing overhead. He sighed, and gathered his books into his arms.

Church wasn't sure what drove him to the thought that reliving high school and college all over again was a good idea. Of course, he would be able to start over with Caboose. They would grow to love each other again. Church would fix all of the mistakes that he had caused. They would live past February twelfth eight years from now.

"What the fuck is your problem, retard?" some boy snarled.

Church recognized his voice, he was one of those kids who sat in the corner of the cafeteria, shouting insults at everybody who passed.

"Yeah, your mom drop you on your head?"

"I hear you got five sisters, is your mom some kind of slut?"

"Don't your parents know what a fucking condom is?"

"If they did, then he wouldn't have been born."

Church turned around. He knew the boys that were cornering Caboose. He knew the wild look in Caboose's eyes, the look like he was about to lash out like a caged fox. He rarely lost his temper but when it happened, it wasn't something that would be controlled.

"Please do not say those things, I do not like to be called that," Caboose said.

One of the bullies shoved him against the wall. "What are you going to do about it?"

Caboose stayed silent.

"That's right, nothing!"

Church watched the scene unfold. If he had been stupid and blind to the events of the future, he would have stopped what was happening. But by then, he knew there was no way that anything would be okay. No matter what he did or tried to change, Church was going to cause Caboose's death. Church would end up alone and without anybody there by his side.

He turned his back on the scene, and walked to class.

\--

Four days later, the Sunday newspaper was delivered around the city.

Church didn't particularly find it interesting to read newspapers, but this one time, he found it in himself to glance through.

The high school sports teams made it to nationals.

The president was announcing some radical new change.

The radical new change was being denied by the rightest-wingers.

Michael J. Caboose committed suicide.

Church found himself staring at the words.

To the left of them was a picture of Caboose grinning his usual grin and looking as happy as could be. He didn't look like somebody who could kill himself.

The article was shoved into a corner of the newspaper, barely 500 words long. Nobody cared about some high school nobody who was bullied into suicide. All they cared about was that their sports team was winning.

Church clung tightly to the paper, as though it were his only lifeline in the world. He could hardly even feel the chill of the morning as he sank down, and held his head in his hands.

He wasn't the type of guy to cry.

"Fuck," he whispered.

The bold letters MICHAEL J. CABOOSE FOUND DEAD, COMMITTED SUICIDE were burned into his brain. Only then did the tears begin to fall.

"I'm so sorry, Caboose."

Every muscle in his body was sore from trying to hold back his tears. He leaned his head back, and looked up at the sky that was just as wide and just as blue as Caboose's eyes had been.

He wondered if it was an open casket funeral.

He wondered if his mother and sisters made those horrible crying noises they did at the last two   
funerals Caboose had been at.

"Goodbye, Caboose."

\--

"What the fuck is your problem, retard?" some boy snarled.

Church knew that voice. He was one of those kids who thought they were so cool, sitting in the corner of the cafeteria and shouting insults at everyone who passed.

Church gave him a broken and bloody nose.

"I'm Church, it's best if you ignore those assholes," he told Caboose.

"I'm Michael, but everybody calls me Caboose," he said, smile as wide as the ocean.

I know, Church thought, his heart heavy with melancholy.

\--

The funeral was held on February twelfth.

Church didn't have a body to identify.

\--

\--

Rinse and repeat.


	2. Over and Over and Over Again

400 years.

Church had spent 399 years trying to get it right. If he could have, he would have kept Caboose in a padded room at all times of the day. Knowing his luck, it would end with Caboose dying anyways. No matter what he did, none of his efforts were good enough.

He was always one second too late, the love of his life taken from him in just a moment.

On his 318th year, he dared to think that he had gotten it right. He and Caboose were 67 years old each, old men with a family and a house, and all of the money they could ever want. It helped that after 318 years, Church had memorized lottery numbers and knew the outcomes of all the big games.

Then some self-important guy with a gun decided to shoot up the theater. They were an old couple watching the remake of Titanic starring some girl that Church knew would fall victim to a horrible heroin addiction. They weren't hurting anybody. But the seat that the guy decided to shoot up first was the back of Caboose's seat. As soon as he heard the gunshot, Church jumped back to when they had first met. He'd learned long ago that the best way to prolong Caboose's death was to start completely over each time. He'd managed to kept him alive for 67 years so far hadn't he?

The worst thing about reliving everything every few years was how easily he lost track of time. To him, ten years felt more like half of a year. Forty of them felt like an extremely slow year. He could hardly tell the time anymore, his internal clock was so screwed up. At least his body didn't deteriorate. At least his mind didn't tear itself apart from all of the horrible things he had seen.

However, he'd also seen good things. Church had seen the first woman president elected, he had seen an invention become widespread that immediately purified water. And no matter how many times he saw it, the image of when Caboose held their first child for the first time was burned into his mind. If it weren't for all of the good things, Church was certain he would have gone insane.

Instead, he got to cherish moments like these. They were 35, his 335th year. Church was on one knee in front of Caboose, a little black box held open in front of him. Every time he hit 35 he tried to change it up. One time he had proposed on a yacht, another time he had proposed at Disneyland. Each warranted the same response, Caboose standing there like a deer in the headlights.

At first, Church was always afraid of his momentary hesitation. Sooner or later, though, maybe the fifth time he'd hit 35, he learned Caboose always said yes. Didn't matter where, didn't matter if Church had a ring or not.

The proposals were Church's favorite moments. No matter what, they were always fantastic. He made sure to do it in private, though; even at Disneyland he had found a secluded place. The last thing Caboose needed was to be stressed out even more by the choice.

Church's second favorite moments were Caboose getting to meet their first child. That happened at 36.

36 didn't happen as often as 35, but it was just as amazing every time it happened. The few times it had happened, Church tried to change that up, too. The first time, they had gone with a surrogate mother. They met her in the hospital after the birth, and Caboose was sat down in a chair, and the baby was handed to him. The baby didn't cry in his arms, instead sound asleep, as if belonging there.

Caboose cried every time, it didn't matter if the child was a baby or a kid in their late teens. Once- Church's 336th year- they adopted a fourteen year old boy. Caboose looked at him and greeted him the same way he had greeted the baby all those years ago. Of course, it was harder to integrate a teenager into their household, but he found his place perfectly among them.

When they were forty they adopted a set of twins. It was hard work- Church had to quit his job, and even their son helped out, but the payoff was worth it. They had two beautiful girls, one who hated lemonade and drew with crayon all over the wall, and the other who swam like a fish. It was hard to get her out of the water- but she grew up to be an Olympic swimmer, so it was all fine in the end.

\--

Church's 400th year on the dot. 

It was Caboose's birthday. 

He was an 82 year old man with no teeth who was having more trouble than it was worth eating mushed-up cake. And Church loved him. The grin on his face never faded, from the moment their children and grand children and great grandchildren showed up at the door, to Church leading him outside. 

They sat on the swinging double-wide chair on the porch, that was specifically lowered for them to sit on. They stayed there for hours, watching the moon rise and the stars move. 

The next day when their housekeeper couldn't wake them up, she panicked, and she was more than upset, but she knew that the two old men who'd employed her for ten years were at rest. From the way they were tucked together on the bed- foreheads pressed against each other and fingers laced securely- it was obvious. They were happy.

Church had finally done it all right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little epilogue

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired heavily by the song Shots by Imagine Dragons


End file.
